From novelist Robert Devereaux, here’s a work that pretends to be Homer’s long-lost, long-suppressed third epic, translated into boldly risqué American prose by Devereaux himself. Three baby-swaps, five Shakespearean bed-tricks, and an infuriated translator blasting academia and his literary critics for doubting the authenticity of his find:
Oedipus: Sigmund Freud’s favorite whipping boy, Ernest Jones’ ridiculous rationale for Hamlet’s mom-and-pop obsessions, and the most famous motherfucker of them all.
Pity the ultra-discombobulated Prince of Corinth, hoping for Delphic reassurance. Goggle-eyed oracle gawks and gasps at him, babbles her incomprehensible jibberish, and drops dead. A blasphemous bloke who claims oracles suck wind, Delphi worst of all, convinces Oedipus to head home to Corinth instead of fleeing.
There, they run headlong into the fecundity-drenched Festival of Demeter. Super-hot Queen Jocasta of Thebes and her hateful, tiny-dicked hubby come a-visiting. Makes the young prince’s pecker stand tall.
He’s lost in bewilderment around Mom and Pop. And in a night of pitch-dark bedchambers and bare-naked thighs, a flurry of bed swaps lands them all in exceedingly compromising positions.
How will our poor lad’s turmoil end? Who the fuck knows? Well actually, the blind bard knows. And trust me, this ain’t your great-grampa’s Homer, no way, no how!
Fuck the Trojan War. To hell with storm-tossed Odysseus, the man of twists and turns. This Eros-inspired epic will have you twisting and turning, tossed in storms of ecstasy, as singlehandedly you listen and moan and marvel!
